


Just In Case

by sarahandthegraveyardshift



Series: The Wish Our Hearts Make [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Original Characters - Freeform, Sheriff Jordan Parrish - Freeform, Stiles Owns A Bookshop, these boys I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 04:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30083286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahandthegraveyardshift/pseuds/sarahandthegraveyardshift
Summary: "How long have I been dead?"
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: The Wish Our Hearts Make [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1611778
Comments: 26
Kudos: 122





	Just In Case

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my goodness, you're here! I'm so incredibly happy to see you!
> 
> Thank you, Thank you, Thank you for being here, my friend!! 
> 
> Please enjoy some Stetopher!family. These boys, I swear, they just make me all warm and fuzzy inside!

Stiles hears the bickering before he sees his soulmates, and he sighs heavily, running a hand over his swollen stomach and stretching his sore shoulders back.

“Christopher, he needs a security system.”

“His wards are better than any security system I've ever seen,” Chris counters.

“Apparently not,” Peter mutters as they step through the entrance of the bookshop. 

Stiles's bookshop.

Stiles's recently broken-into bookshop.

Sheriff Jordan Parrish puts a hand on Stiles's tense shoulder. “We'll find who's responsible, Stiles.” He offers a sympathetic smile. “You gonna be all right?”

Stiles eyes Peter and Chris as they approach. “Yeah, Jordan. Thanks for sticking around.”

Peter is suddenly in his space, hands on either side of his face and tilting his head to get a look at the bandage across his left brow. “Stiles, you didn't say you were injured,” he admonishes, and Chris hovers at Peter's shoulder, reaching out and gently running his thumb across Stiles's cheekbone, where a nasty bruise is already forming.

“Are you all right?” he asks softly.

Stiles sighs and shakes his head. “I'm fine. Really. I'm more irritated than anything.”

Parrish heads off with one last goodbye to the three of them.

Peter puts his hands on Stiles's stomach, listening intently for the heartbeats of their children after the bell on the front door settles. “They weren't hurt?”

Stiles slides his fingers over the werewolf's warm hands and squeezes them with a small smile. “They're safe, I promise.”

Peter sighs in relief, kissing his young soulmate and pressing their foreheads together. “Why were you here so late?”

“I was on my way home,” Stiles explains, beginning to repeat what he'd told Parrish, “and I just...got this weird feeling. Like I should turn around and come back.”

“Did something set off the wards?” Chris asks, guiding Stiles out of Peter's grasp and to a stool behind the counter.

Stiles's brows pull together, and he grunts softly at the uncomfortableness of the feeling. “No. The wards were all in place. The front door was still locked. Whoever it was came in through the back. I think there were two of them.”

Chris sets off to investigate, and Peter grabs another stool to sit in front of the young man, taking hold of his hands and beginning to leech pain from him. “Sweetheart, what happened to your face?” 

Stiles swallows thickly. “I startled one of them as they were going through books out here. They knocked me into some shelving and ran out the back again.” Peter squeezes his hands and whines low in his throat. “It wasn't very hard. Just enough to jostle some books from the shelf above me. I didn't fall,” Stiles assures him, releasing one of Peter's hands and raising it to cup the man's face. “I heard whispering as they left, so I think there was another that might have been in the storeroom.”

“Did you see their faces?” Chris asks, coming out from the back room.

“No, they were too far away,” Stiles murmurs absently, thoughts wandering as he tries to keep the events fresh in his mind. 

Peter pauses. “You said you were knocked into some shelving.”

The younger man nods. “They were across the room.” He looks up at Peter, then Chris. “Whoever it was used magic.”

“Must have been someone powerful if they got the better of you,” Peter says, fingers gently shifting Stiles's disheveled hair back into place.

Stiles shrugs, leaning into the touch. “Or they just caught my tired, pregnant ass by surprise.”

“You should have called us before you turned around,” Chris says sternly, frowning and continuing to search the shelving with a calculating gaze.

“I know,” Stiles admits. “I wasn't really thinking. After I got the feeling, it was like I was on autopilot. I barely remember coming back. And then I was just—here.”

The hunter makes his way back to them and presses a kiss into Stiles's hair. “Do you know if they took anything?”

“I don't think so. It seems like I interrupted them while they were looking, though. I'll have to do inventory to find out.” Stiles takes his hand out of Peter's and tiredly rubs at his eyes. “Fuck. That's going to take all night.”

“No, love, you need to come home and sleep,” Peter argues, moving the younger man's hand away from his face. “I'll come back and take care of it in the morning.”

Stiles closes his eyes and lets his head drop forward, loosing a small moan as Chris kneads the back of his neck. “You hate inventory,” he points out, but the older men can tell they've already convinced him.

“Come home, baby,” Chris says, putting an arm around Stiles's shoulders and helping him up from the stool and towards the front door.

Stiles gives up on protesting, but he does let his gaze wander around the building as Chris leads them to the hunter's car, Peter kissing his uninjured brow before fishing the young man's keys from his jacket and making a comment about getting Stiles's jeep home in one piece. 

Stiles hums absently, barely paying attention to the words as Chris helps him into the passenger seat of the SUV. The hairs on the back of his neck tingle.

0 o 0 o 0

Stiles sleeps through the night, waking only when Peter's alarm goes off in the early hours of the morning. He hears the man sigh before he feels a warm hand ghost over his stomach and lips press a kiss to his temple. The mattress shifts as the werewolf starts to get out of bed.

“Stay,” Stiles says, the word barely a whisper. 

Peter huffs softly. “I need to start your inventory if I want to finish sometime today.”

“You mean sometime this week,” Chris hums from behind Stiles, arm stretched around the young man and fingers splayed wide over his belly.

Stiles shifts in the hunter's hold gritting his teeth to keep from making any noises of discomfort. He reaches out, blindly finding the werewolf's arm and holding tight. “Stay, Peter.” His breath shudders when he can't manage to swallow a small noise of pain. “Stay with me.”

Peter immediately reaches for the younger man, hand carefully gliding along his side and fingers curling around his waist as he draws the ache from his body. “Your pain is worse than last night.”

Chris makes a breathy, displeased noise as he gently prods a few places between Stiles's shoulder blades. “Baby, you have bruises on your back.”

Stiles scrunches his nose and squeezes his eyelids shut tightly. “My head's pounding.” He hasn't hurt like this since his early years of college. His spark training has afforded him many advantages, the most impressive being his aptitude for healing magics. There's been very little he hasn't been able to recover from. His magic, however, has found a different source to focus on over the last eight months, and his usual aches and pains have seemed to take a little more time to heal than normal.

Peter presses his lips to the younger man's forehead, checking for a fever. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. You need to rest.”

Stiles wishes he had the energy to argue, but as Peter settles into bed, running his fingers through the spark's hair, Chris remains a constant presence at his back. He can't seem to stop exhaustion from pulling him into darkness and dreams he doesn't understand. 

0 o 0 o 0

Peter reluctantly wakes the younger man around noon, helping him into the bathroom to relieve himself and then tucking him back into bed. Chris makes sure Stiles eats what little food he can manage and drinks an entire glass of water. The ice cold of the drink feels good on his throat, but he soon finds himself drifting off again.

“I don't like this,” Peter says, brushing sweaty bangs from his younger soulmate's forehead.

“It's a fever, Peter,” Chris says, his tone patient and soft as he watches Stiles sleep. “Humans get sick. He'll be okay.”

“Stiles hasn't had so much as a cold since he managed to fully control his magic. How do we know something isn't wrong with the pups?” the werewolf argues, taking more pain from the younger man as his brows draw together in his sleep. “This doesn't feel right. I want to take a look around the bookstore.”

“He needs you here.”

“I'll be gone for a couple of hours at most. He'll probably sleep through the afternoon.”

Chris purses his lips, obviously unhappy with Peter's proposal. But they need answers. And if anyone can find any, it's the werewolf. “Fine,” he concedes, running his hands through his hair and stretching the stiffness from his limbs. “Two hours.”

Peter kisses him, soft and slow. “Two hours,” he promises, then he's quickly getting dressed and out the door.

Chris sighs, watching Stiles for several moments before reaching for his phone and emailing a few of his contacts for any information about the figures that broke into the bookshop. He sets his phone aside and wraps his arms around his young soulmate, counting each breath as he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

0 o 0 o 0

Stiles wakes an hour later with a startled gasp, jostling Chris from a light doze.

“Baby, what—” 

“We need to get to the store,” Stiles says quickly, pushing at the hunter desperately to get him out of bed. 

“What's wrong?” Chris asks, standing quickly and ignoring the dizzying head rush as he carefully helps the younger man sit up. “Is it Peter?”

Stiles runs his hands over his protruding stomach with a worried expression as Chris grabs clothing for both of them. “Peter's going to kill them.” The older man helps the spark get dressed then hurriedly tugs on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

“Baby, talk to me,” Chris says gently as he guides his husband down the stairs and snatches his keys from the hook in the entryway.

“We have to stop him, Chris. We can't let him kill them.” 

Chris sighs in that way that means his husband is being far too cryptic for his liking as he helps Stiles into the passenger seat of the SUV. “You want to stop Peter from killing the people that broke into your shop and hurt you?”

“Yes,” Stiles says firmly, buckling his seat belt as Chris gets into the drivers seat and turns the key in the ignition.

“Any particular reason why?” 

Stiles huffs with incredulity. “You mean besides keeping one of the fathers of my children from being a murderer?” he says curtly, sitting back in his seat and swallowing the lump in his throat. “I can't explain until we get there.”

Chris shakes his head and puts the car in reverse, looking behind him as he backs out of the garage. “Of course you can't.”

0 o 0 o 0

Stiles is out of the SUV before it fully comes to a stop outside the shop. He hears Chris curse and put the car in park before jumping out after him and shouting his name. But he doesn't slow his pace. He can't be too late.

“Peter stop!” Stiles yells as he stumbles through the door, the sound of the bell jingling as he runs past the man towards the figures huddled in the far corner of the bookstore. Peter's fangs and claws are out, his eyes glowing a dangerous blue as his gaze shifts to his young mate.

“Stiles, don't!” Peter reaches for him, but Stiles turns his back on the figures, raising a hand and creating a shield that neither the werewolf nor Chris can pass through.

“Enough!” Stiles shouts, his eyes flashing a bright white and his tone filled with power. Peter and Chris step back from the force of it. “They're not going to hurt me.” Once he's satisfied that his husbands aren't able to interfere, he turns back to the figures, his eyes returning to a warm amber as his features soften. He smiles reassuringly, holding his hands out towards them. “It's okay. Come here.”

The figures hesitate, sharing a glance before stepping forward and lowering the hoods of their sweatshirts. They're young, sixteen at most—a boy and a girl. The boy has wavy brown hair and striking blue eyes. The girl's eyes are a familiar honey-amber, her hair dark and straight. And as Stiles reaches out and strokes his fingers down each of their faces, both figures' eyes flash brightly—the boy's a golden-yellow and the girl's a bright white. 

“Stiles, he's—” Chris starts, but the young spark interrupts.

“A werewolf. I'm aware.” Stiles smiles warmly at them both, running his thumbs over their cheekbones. “Like I wouldn't recognize my own children.”

The teens both draw in tight breaths, surprise lighting across their faces before their features crumple and they surge forward to embrace Stiles together. Stiles shushes them as they cry and apologize, running his hands over their hair and wiping their tears when they reluctantly pull away from him. 

“Chris, Peter,” Stiles says firmly, turning his head and lowering the shield that separates them. “You should probably come and say hello to our kids.” He looks back to the girl and smiles warmly. “Sweetie, I need you to drop the scent blockers you have on you and your brother.” 

The girl's eyes widen, her mouth opening and closing a couple of times before she sniffles and nods quickly. In an instant, the low rumble from Peter's chest stops, and he draws in a deep breath through his nose. Confusion and surprise war on his face. These intruders, these _teenagers_ don't smell like strangers. They smell like pack, like family. They smell like Peter and Chris—but only vaguely of Stiles. Peter looks at Chris, perplexed and unable to convey more than, “They...smell like us.”

“Of course they do,” Stiles says, breathing heavily as the adrenaline wears off from the last few minutes. “Now, come with me. We need to talk about why you're here.” He turns and starts towards the storeroom, gesturing for them to follow but waving Chris and Peter off as they pass by them. “Just us.”

“Stiles—”

“I don't think—”

“Find something to occupy yourselves with,” Stiles interrupts, holding the storeroom door open for the teens and giving his husbands a smirk. “That shouldn't be too hard.” He winks and closes the door, leaving the startled men at the counter. 

He waves a hand, placing a silencing charm on the door, before turning to find the teens standing awkwardly in the center of the room, sharing concerned glances and similar frowns. “Stop looking so worried. Grab those chairs—and can you get me a water from that fridge? Yeah, that one. Get one for you and your sister, too.” Stiles sits heavily in the chair that the girl scrambles to bring him, accepting a water bottle from the boy and taking a large drink while the twins get seated. He huffs with relief and caps the bottle, setting it on the floor and sitting back in his chair with his hands on his stomach. The teens can't seem to keep their eyes off of it. “How about we start with your names?”

This jostles the two of them out of their staring contest with his abdomen, and they share a quick look before the girl takes a breath. “My name is Claudia. My brother's name is Caleb. We're, um...” She gestures weakly to Stiles's stomach and clears her throat. 

“My children. Obviously,” Stiles says with an easy shrug and a smile. “You're about two weeks from being born, you know.” He studies the twins a little more, now that he has the time. 

Claudia's face is stoic, like Chris's. She has wide eyes and prominent cheekbones and just the slightest upturn of the tip of her nose. She sits with her back straight and her legs crossed at the knees. Her bravado is definitely from Peter.

Caleb's long fingers drum against the water bottle in his hands over and over. One of his legs bounces nervously, and the restless shifting he can't seem to help as he stretches his shoulders and hunches his back speaks volumes about whether or not a werewolf can have ADHD. 

“Claudia and Caleb,” the spark murmurs gently, trying the names on his tongue and smiling. He takes a breath to speak but a sudden jolt in his abdomen cuts him off. “Oh, shit.” Stiles releases the breath in a sharp stream of air as he clutches at his stomach. “You kiddos really like moving around.”

Claudia stares at her father's stomach with wide eyes, her fingers twitching at her side. “Can I...?”

Stiles smiles brightly. “Yeah, definitely!” He moves his hands aside and gives Caleb a searching look. The boy grins shyly and reaches out along with his sister. Their hands are warm, and Stiles laughs when they jump at the first feeling of movement. “You guys seriously keep me on my toes, playing lacrosse with my kidneys.” 

Claudia's small smile wanes, and she lets her hands fall from Stiles's stomach. “You taught us how to play. When we were little.”

Stiles sits back in his chair, studying the girl carefully. “How long have I been dead?” Claudia and Caleb stare back at him with wide, wet eyes. Stiles tilts his head and gives them a soft, reassuring grin. “There's only one reason you'd be here. And you didn't react to your fathers the way you did to me.”

Claudia swallows tightly, sharing a look with Caleb before taking a breath. “Almost five years.”

Stiles nods and sighs, running a hand over his stomach. “So you needed to come back to a point in time before you were born to fix that?”

“This is where we tracked the source,” Cole explains softly, tears slipping down his face as he averts his eyes. “It took a little over a year to figure out how to do it...but we found a spell in Dad's library.”

“The library that Peter barely lets me touch?” Stiles asks incredulously, shaking his head. “I'm guessing he didn't know you were poking around his books.” He raises an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth quirking. “And I'm guessing he doesn't know you're here.”

Caleb bites the inside of his cheek, shifting in his seat. “Dad would kill us if he knew.”

“Well, your dad almost _did_ kill you about ten minutes ago,” Stiles says sternly. “This isn't the type of magic you should be messing with. It's dangerous.”

“What were we supposed to do?” Claudia asks, standing from her chair and gesturing wildly. 

“I think you know the answer to that,” Stiles says. 

“How can you say that?” the girl yells, her words desperate and angry. “I'm named after the mother you lost. Wouldn't you do anything you could to get her back?”

“Sit down, Claudia.” Stiles's tone is firm, and the teen remains stubborn for only a moment before roughly sitting back down and crossing her arms. Stiles huffs and looks upward with exasperation. “Figures you'd be bullheaded.” He looks between the two and smirks. “And smart.” 

“We miss you,” Caleb says simply, shrugging one shoulder and picking at his fingernails. “Dad and Pop do, too. We hear them, sometimes—crying. We're not just doing this for ourselves.”

“And what if it doesn't work?” Stiles asks. “What if you're wrong about this source? What if something with your spell goes wrong, and your fathers lose the both of you, too?”

“It'll work,” Claudia says curtly.

Stiles studies the teen's blue eyes, watching them flash a familiar white as she scowls. “What do you need?”

“A...A book,” Caleb states, licking his lips nervously. “We tracked it here, to your bookstore. We were just trying to find it last night, we didn't mean to—”

Stiles holds a hand up to stop the explanation—and the inevitable round of apologies that will follow. “Let's see if we can find it.”

Caleb and Claudia straighten in their chairs. “Just like that?” Claudia asks suspiciously.

Stiles raises his hands from his stomach as he shrugs. “Did you expect me to say no?”

“Kinda,” Caleb says. “Or at least tell us off a little more.”

“I'll leave that to your fathers,” Stiles sighs, smiling at the teens—his children—and gesturing them forward. “Now help me up. You two are heavy little suckers.”

Claudia and Caleb jump up immediately, helping him stand and following him from the storeroom into the bookstore. Peter and Chris stand from the stools behind the counter, watching the three of them with calculating gazes. 

“Everything all right?” the hunter asks, tensing as Claudia approaches him without hesitation and knocks her shoulder into his. 

“Everything's fine, old man,” she says with a smirk. 

Stiles huffs as he stops at the counter, opening his laptop and waiting for it to boot up.

Caleb is a little more cautious about approaching the men, but he sidles up beside Peter and gives him a once over and a sharp smile. “Can't call them old, Sis. They're younger than we've ever seen them—outside of pictures.” 

“What's the name of the book you need?” Stiles asks, pulling up his inventory roster and waiting with fingers poised over the keyboard.

“Paradiso Infernum,” Claudia says, watching over the spark's shoulder as he types it in.

“Hm,” Stiles hums as the results appear on the screen. “Nothing by that name in our inventory.”

“That's not possible,” Caleb says with a frown, looking over Stiles's other shoulder at the laptop. He reaches out, hesitates before touching Stiles's arm to scent him. The spark smiles at the touch, taking a breath to speak.

Claudia beats him to it. “Just because it's not listed doesn't mean you don't have it.” Stiles gives the girl an impressed look. “We know about the unlisted inventory, Daddy.”

“We've just...never been able to find it,” Caleb admits sheepishly, cheeks turning a soft red. 

Stiles rubs the teen's arm firmly, scenting him back. “It's a roaming spell, kiddo. Only the spell-caster can find it.” He closes the laptop and starts around the counter. “Come on. Field trip.”

He holds out a hand, and Peter is there instantly, curling Stiles's arm under his own and matching the spark's pace. Claudia and Caleb follow behind, watching the two with rapt attention. They remember so much—and yet it seems like so little—about Stiles. The love he shared with their fathers was unmatched, except by the absolute adoration he showed his children. The twins grew up knowing only complete and utter happiness.

Until the day Stiles didn't come home from the bookshop.

Chris and Peter tried to hold their little family together, tried to balance raising their children with the grief of losing a soulmate. But even Claudia and Caleb noticed when they stopped exchanging small touches, when they stopped speaking to one another in civil tones, when they stopped sleeping in the same bed. Stiles was— _is_ —the bright, beautiful spark at the center of their world. And without him, the darkness he leaves in his wake is something they cannot— _will_ not—recover from.

Stiles leads them to a bookshelf along the back wall, taking careful steps and stopping at a particular section. With a squeeze of Peter's arm and a kiss to the werewolf's cheek, he smiles and says, “Thanks, babe.” 

Peter nuzzles his jaw and runs a hand over his stomach before taking a half step away. Stiles faces the bookshelf and raises his hands, does something complicated with his fingers, and suddenly the entire shelf shifts aside, revealing a much smaller section of books. His gaze roves over the tomes before stopping on a specific one.

“Chris,” Stiles says, and the hunter is instantly at his side, hand sliding along the small of the younger man's back. Stiles points, saying, “Top shelf, third from the left.” Chris steps forward and reaches for the book, sliding it off the shelf and handing it to Stiles with a kiss to his temple. “Thank you, love.”

Stiles turns with the book, head tilting as he looks at it curiously. “Paradiso Infernum,” he murmurs, gaze snapping up and landing on the twins sternly. “Paradise Hell. Lots of nasty spells in this one.”

“We don't want it for the spells,” Claudia says, lips pursed tightly as she glares at the book. “We want it destroyed.”

“And you think that will stop my death?” Stiles asks bluntly. Chris and Peter stiffen, flanking their young husband immediately.

“What death?”

“What's going on?”

Stiles sighs like the entire ordeal is exhausting—which it is, but he just can't seem to muster the strength to treat it with the seriousness that it deserves. “That's why our children are here. They're trying to keep me alive.”

Chris and Peter look at the twins with a mixture of gratitude and hope. “And you think destroying this book will do that?” the hunter asks, glancing between the twins as they share an unreadable look.

“It has to,” Caleb says desperately.

Stiles raises an eyebrow, fingers curling around the aged leather of the book's cover. “It won't be easy to destroy.”

“Dark magic never is,” Claudia recites, and it sounds like something Stiles would say.

The spark tilts his head and hands the book to the girl. “I should have what you need—but you probably already knew that.”

Claudia takes the book gingerly, her jaw tightening as she stares at it. This book, this _thing_ , is the reason her father is dead. She feels like she's holding a murder weapon.

She startles when Stiles rests a hand on her shoulder, smiling gently at her and gesturing with his head as he takes Chris's arm and starts towards the counter again. “I'll grab what you need from the back.” Stiles releases the hunter when they get to the front, slipping into the storeroom by himself.

Chris and Peter waste no time turning to the twins.

“What happens to Stiles?” the hunter asks, grinding his teeth to remind himself to keep his voice civil—his kids don't need to be interrogated.

Claudia and Caleb exchange a look before the girl speaks. “We don't know,” she confesses, shaking her head when Chris takes another breath. “No one knows. You and Dad—” Her gaze flicks to Peter. “—found him in the bookshop. We read the police reports and saw pictures from the scene. There was blood—a lot of it.”

“And how did you get access to the police reports?” Chris asks, his tone not unlike a father who knows exactly how his children were able to get access to something they shouldn't have.

Claudia rolls her eyes. “If they didn't want people hacking into the police website, they should have made better firewalls.” 

Caleb swallows hard. “There was a symbol smeared on the floor in blood, nothing that anyone had seen before. None of your contacts could find anything, and there was nothing about it in the Hale library. Not even Deaton could make any connections.”

“All we know,” Claudia says, “is that _this_ book—” She holds up the object in question. “—was used. Pop found it out in the alley, several pages ripped out of it.”

“Stiles is the only one who can access that book. How would it have gotten into someone else's hands?” Peter asks.

“We think someone forced him to open the hidden bookshelf,” Caleb explains. “They knew the book was here, and they knew that he'd be here late after closing to do inventory.” He draws in a sharp breath and looks at his sister. “You both agreed that it was probably someone he knew, someone who might have frequented the bookshop—maybe a regular customer that he trusted. It was the only way they might have gotten through the wards without setting them off.” 

“Like you did,” Chris says wryly. Caleb, at least, looks a little sheepish, but Claudia raises her chin proudly, returning the hunter's wry look with a similar one—Chris's _exact_ look, actually. There can't be any doubt that they're related now. “There weren't any traces of them besides the book?”

Claudia shakes her head. “The place was wiped clean with magic. No scent, no fingerprints. Nothing left behind.” She shrugs one shoulder. “And you know surveillance doesn't work around his wards.” She looks down at the book with disdain, baring her teeth at it as if she can intimidate information from it. “This is the only time we could come back for it.”

“The only moment we knew exactly where the book would be and were certain that no one knew of its location yet,” Caleb says, refusing to look at the object at all. “If we can get rid of it now, then he should be safe.”

“Then by all means,” Stiles sighs from the storeroom doorway, a wooden box filled with bottles and papers clutched in his hands that Peter hurries forward to take from him, “let's save my life.”

0 o 0 o 0

Despite its complexity, the ritual to destroy the book takes only moments. Claudia already knows which liquids to pour over the pages and the words that need to be said—she had, after all, planned to destroy it herself without any help. Stiles watches on with bright eyes and a proud smile as the teen calls flames to her hands and lets the book burn while she holds it tightly, the fire never scorching her skin. When the tome is little more than ash, she brushes her hands together and wipes the remnants of it on her jeans, smearing black across her thighs.

“A little anti-climactic,” Peter says with a raised eyebrow, and Claudia smirks.

“The hard part was getting here and finding the book. We thought that would take a lot longer.” She looks at Stiles and swallows hard. “But I guess we also thought we'd be doing it on our own.”

Stiles smiles and holds his arms out, wrapping them around the twins as they fold themselves into his embrace. “I am so fucking proud of you two.” The teens laugh wetly and hold him tighter, not wanting to let go in case...

Just in case.

Stiles doesn't let go until the teens reluctantly pull back, the spark cupping their chins and giving each of them a sad, grateful look. “You know how to get home?”

Claudia nods and sniffs as she reaches into her pocket, taking out the charmed bracelets she'd made to take them forward to their own time. She hands one to her brother, and they both wrap them around their wrists. 

The twins hug Chris and Peter tightly before standing in the center of the bookshop and taking each other's hand. With one last glance at their fathers—one last look at the family they hope to restore—Claudia activates the bracelets with her magic. And then the two are, suddenly, just—gone. 

The three men stare at the spot where their children stood for a long, quiet moment, letting the events of the afternoon settle. It's not even close to being late yet—in fact, it's barely four o'clock. 

Stiles is the one to break the quiet, smiling happily as he turns and walks around the front counter. “They're going to look a lot like the both of you.”

Chris huffs incredulously. “I can't believe our daughter is going to have magic.”

“Our son is going to be a born 'wolf,” Peter says in wonder, and a thought occurs to him. “They'll be first Hales born since the fire.”

Stiles holds his hands out over the counter and waits for his husbands to take them. “They're going to be perfect.” He squeezes his fingers tightly before letting the men go.

“Do you think they changed anything?” Chris asks quietly.

Stiles rubs at his stomach and sighs. He starts putting the bottles and papers back inside the wooden box. “For us, or for them?”

“Either.”

The spark shrugs and smiles softly. “No sense worrying about it. Destiny, fate, whatever. It finds us all in the end.” He gives his husbands a strange look. “I have a feeling this moment doesn't belong to us—that it isn't ours to remember.”

“Stiles,” Peter says cautiously. “You're not—”

“I'm not going to alter our memories.” Stiles huffs with exasperation, rolling his eyes at the looks he receives from the men. “I don't dabble in memory magic. Too much shit can go wrong.” He frowns at the box of items on the counter. “I'm just saying that if our children are as smart as I think they're going to be, they would have taken precautions to make sure we can't undo what they did. And the only way to keep us from doing that—”

“Is to make sure we don't remember they were here,” Chris says slowly, frowning as he glances around the shop. “But they're gone. And we clearly still have memories of them being here.”

“Mm,” Stiles hums, head tilting as he lets his gaze go distant. “Probably a fading spell so our memories aren't altered so abruptly.” He smiles wistfully at his men. “I doubt we'll remember them by morning.” Well, he doubts that Peter and Chris will remember their children's visit by morning. But no way in hell is he going to tell them that he'll have memories of something they won't.

Chris frowns. “I don't like that.”

The younger man shrugs nonchalantly. “Can't like or not-like what you don't remember,” he sing-songs, tapping the box of items and turning towards the storeroom. “Help me put this away. Then let's go home. I'm hungry and tired.”

Peter and Chris exchange a look, sighing with acceptance as the werewolf takes hold of the box and follows after their husband. “He needs a security system, Christopher.”

Chris runs a hand along Peter's back as he follows, too. “I'll look into it.”

0 o 0 o 0

The twins wake on Claudia's bedroom floor, the last place they were before the ritual that sent them back in time. They shake and stare at one another with wide eyes, blinking tears away and stretching stiffness from their limbs as they stand. 

“Do you think it worked?” Caleb asks, swallowing the dryness from his throat. 

Claudia breathes heavily, searching her room for any differences. There's a picture on her desk—one that used to be of her, Caleb, and Stiles when the twins were probably around eight. Now, however, they both look older, their smiles are wide and happy—it looks like it could have been taken a few days ago.

She picks up the picture with shaking fingers, her brother studying it over her shoulder. “Yeah,” she says breathlessly, her throat tightening with hope, “I think it did.”

She sets the photo down, and they leave the room quickly, bolting down the stairs and knocking against one another as they stop abruptly just outside of the kitchen. Peter stands quietly at the stove, flipping a pancake on a griddle then laying a few strips of bacon in a cast iron skillet. Chris stands at the breakfast bar, eyebrows pulled together as he glances over the newspaper and takes a sip from a coffee mug that Caleb made in middle school.

It's surreal, seeing their fathers a little older, a little grayer, a few more wrinkles around their eyes and mouths, when they just saw them so young.

“Morning,” Claudia says, still a little breathless as she gets the attention of both men.

Chris looks over their outfits with a frown, eyes narrowing. “Did you two sneak out last night?”

The twins laugh nervously, sharing a quick glance. 

“Uh,” Caleb starts with a shrug, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “yeah, I guess. Just for a bit.”

Peter raises an eyebrow at the honesty, looking at Chris briefly and smirking. “Should we be expecting a visit from Sheriff Parrish this morning?”

The teens shake their heads quickly, laughing at the skeptical looks they receive.

“We just needed to...fix something,” Claudia says, biting the inside of her cheek to keep the sting in her eyes from turning into tears. 

“And did you?” Chris asks quietly, glancing between his children expectantly. 

Caleb swallows hard, blinking a few times before taking a breath. He doesn't get a chance to speak as the back door slides open and closed.

“Fucking blackberry bush,” Stiles mutters as he enters the kitchen, a bowl of freshly-picked blackberries in one hand. He hisses and shakes out the other one, which has a nasty scratch near his wrist at the base of his thumb.

Peter smiles sympathetically and takes the bowl while Chris fishes a small first aid kit out of a nearby drawer. “Did the thorns get you again, baby?”

“That _thing_ has it out for me,” Stiles complains as Chris cleans the cut and puts a bandage on the scratch. “It _reached_ for me, I swear.”

Claudia and Caleb stand perfectly still during the exchange, wavering on their feet as a rash of new memories flood their heads. The mere sight of Stiles is enough to set them off—hikes along the preserve trails and dinners at their favorite diner and taking pictures before school dances. These are all things they had memories of before, but now— _now_ —Stiles is nestled deeply in all of them. 

The spark frowns one more time at his hand before looking up at his children, eyebrows raising at the dual looks of shock centered on him. He steps towards them and tilts his head questioningly. “Hey. You two okay?”

The twins leap forward, knocking Stiles back against the counter with the force of their embrace. The older man makes a noise of surprise then chuckles as he wraps his arms around the teens, holding them tightly until they pull back.

Stiles wipes the tears from their cheeks, smiling knowingly as he asks, “Back from your adventure, my loves?”

Claudia nods quickly, wiping at her nose and sniffling. “Love you, Daddy.”

“Love you,” Caleb repeats, a few more tears slipping down his face as Stiles kisses his forehead, then Claudia's. 

“I love you both. So much.” He hugs them one last time before giving them a wry look and nodding towards the dining room. “Go set the table. Breakfast is almost ready.”

They laugh wetly and grab plates and utensils to set out. Peter and Chris watch the twins curiously for a moment, giving Stiles questioning looks. The spark shrugs and smiles, grabbing a pitcher of orange juice from the fridge before kissing the confusion from each of his husbands in turn, slow and deep, and heading to the table.

Claudia and Caleb have pancakes with blackberry syrup and bacon and scrambled eggs and toast, and everything tastes so much better than they remember. Because they're finally home.

**Author's Note:**

> You are unbelievably lovely, did you know? I'm so glad you could be here!
> 
> Have an amazing day, my friend! I'll see you again soon!
> 
> 💖💖💖💖💖


End file.
